


Even Now We Feel The Shape Of Your Absence

by CatChan



Series: Rest Forever Here In Our Hearts [1]
Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Past Character Death, aftermath of death, death anniversary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-15
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2019-02-03 01:05:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12737913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatChan/pseuds/CatChan
Summary: Damian landed down on The Street.It was bare of anything or anyone.It hadn't been like that at first.There had been candles and flowers all along the sidewalk and on the roofs around for the whole week after they found the body.People had come by to pay their respects on the first anniversary too, left tokens.But it had been a long time since the tragedy, other things had happened to push that one particular death away from the Gothamites' minds. Other deaths, other problems.But not for the family.Not for any of the Bats.Or Robin.





	Even Now We Feel The Shape Of Your Absence

**Author's Note:**

> I am so sorry to you all for this.
> 
> Don't scroll past the tags because it's me, that one is a violent hit in the feels without happy end.
> 
>  **SUPPLEMENTARY TRIGGER WARNING IN END NOTES** I know this story has the potential to fuck people up, stay safe, even the fact that I don't want to spoil in the tags doesn't mean that you have to risk your mental wellness!

Damian swung through the Gotham sky.

He was alone, that wasn’t in any way particular now, he’d grown tall and strong enough that no one particularly worried for him anymore. And he had been avoiding crippling or killing for long enough that they didn’t particularly feel the need to protect Gotham’s disreputable nightlife from him either.

But even without that, this wasn’t a night where his family felt like monitoring him anyway.

Every year, when the anniversary came around, no one felt like butting in on anyone else’s business, each one of them much too preoccupied with guilt and grief.

This was the night for mourning.

All of Gotham knew it. They knew this was the fifth year anniversary of one of their vigilante’s death. They knew it was the night when none of the Bats felt particularly benevolent. Some had tried to use the memory of their loss against them, maybe they thought the heroes would be sloppy on the anniversary. They weren’t. They were furious and easy to anger because that was an easier emotion to process than the crushing guilt.

No one tainted their lost member’s death anniversary with crime nowadays.

The streets were eerily calm as a result.

A full body cast didn’t particularly appeal to people after all.

The outside heroes didn’t contact them either.

They either understood and shared their pain and loss (and some of the guilty feeling); or at least were wary of setting of the Bats’ tempers by disrupting their gloom.

Damian landed down on The Street.

It was bare of anything or anyone.

It hadn’t been like that at first.

There had been candles and flowers all along the sidewalk and on the roofs around for the whole week after they found the body.

People had come by to pay their respects on the first anniversary too, left tokens.

But it had been a long time since the tragedy, other things had happened to push that one particular death away from the Gothamites’ minds. Other deaths, other problems.

But not for the family.

Not for any of the Bats.

Or Robin.  
  


The sidewalk was grimy but intact.

Damian felt there should at least have been a dent on the sidewalk to mark all the hurt this place had inflicted on his family.

But it wasn’t the sidewalk’s fault. Or even the rooftop up above’s.

It wasn’t even their departed member’s fault.

It was their fault. Collectively, as a family. As allies.

They should have seen this coming, but they hadn’t.

They had all been too absorbed in their own selves and their own problems that they hadn’t seen the obvious. Hadn’t predicted the predictable. Hadn’t prevented the preventable.  
  


Damian remembered the moment he’d discovered the tragedy. The moment they’d discovered they were one short.

How could he not?

It was engraved in his memories like an unhealing brand.

He remembered with shame how he’d first scoffed at the inquiry for his older ally. How he’d then said something insulting about his then already dead ally.

He remembered the tension mounting, the dread seeping in on their com channels.

He remembered the ping on the untriggered emergency beacon, the Batpeople converging toward This very Street.

He remembered the gasps, the questions, the mayhem.

He remembered Alfred asking if he needed to prep the medbay for emergency medical treatment.

He remembered the chocked up “no” that had felt like someone just announced the end of the world.

No.

No, no emergency medical treatment.

Nothing could have been done to save their lost partner.

He remembered the reality hitting him in the face like a sledgehammer along with the grief filled negation.

He remembered his own numbness as he made it to one of the surrounding roofs and saw the confirmation with his own two eyes in the form of a dislocated body painting the sidewalk… Not red, no, not on a black ground, just, glistening moisture and sparse reddish reflections where some light managed to reach the puddles.

He remembered the crowd of civilians gathering, curious and horrified.

He remembered the tentative way Father had reached for the prone form then lifted it.

He remembered the horror of having to do an inventory check amongst the blood.

He remembered the even bigger dread at hearing the words “intact grapple” and “spare line”. At reviewing all the ways their ally could and should have saved themselves from the fatal end to their fall.

After that… After that was hard to remember amongst the haze.

They had needed to disguise the death, craft cover stories…

Father haunted the Wayne graveyard for months. In fact this was where he was this very night.

Damian… Didn’t want to intrude, or otherwise disrupt any of the other’s grieving, so he had found his own place to pay his respect.

So while Alfred cleaned the deceased’s bedroom and Grayson sat in from of the costume cases and looked over pictures, hurting himself by seeing all the way in which he should have seen the decline in cheerfulness as a warning sign, Damian came here.  
  


It didn’t feel as intrusive this way.

Damian stalked to the small altar he had made here years ago.

It was modest, two plexiglass sheets as walls and a couple of clear glass roof-tiles to protect burning candles from the weather. The departed’s two crests; the one they died in, and the one they had once worn; secured in a little cement slab on the ground under the shelter, so people passing by could know who was being grieved here.

After a cursory glance to confirm no one would be brash enough to try and attack him in this very place the day of his ally’s death anniversary, Robin bent to his knees, then sat on the dirty sidewalk. He riffled through his utility belt to get his candle out. It was a big one that should burn on for hours, Damian had engraved his lost comrade’s emblem on the side of it earlier in the day with a heated blade, as a preparation for this night.

The engraved emblem and sitting down was a special, annual thing. The candles were not, he swung by to light one at least once a month, usually a smaller one.

Damian took out his lighter and lit the candle then carefully placed it in the center of the altar, then he took out his other offerings.

The bouquet of blood red roses went with a bit of water in the small acrylic pipe he’d included to the side of the shelter to serve this purpose, then he artfully wrapped the black satin ribbon over it.

The drawing of the young (at the moment of their death) hero, being made on a cardboard drawing sheet, could stand on it’s own at the back of the shelter without risks of becoming a fire hazard, though Damian took care to tape it securely for this exact reason anyway.

Now that the objects were out and arranged, there was no reason to keep putting back the next bit…

“They all miss you.” Damian whispered, touching his fingertips to the old Robin emblem set in the altar. “They all…” He didn’t choke up, but he had to take a deep breath. “I miss you too. I never thought this would happen, but you made it happen anyway, didn’t you?”

Damian thought back on all the insults and attacks. He didn’t drown in guilt for it anymore. Five years was a long time to learn to swim in one’s guilt without going totally under. “Hireath. That’s a Welsh word. It’s a type of nostalgia for something that is forever gone and can never be recovered again. I miss the opportunity to have gotten a bond with you. I also miss the time before you left. They changed without you. They are always sad. They fight more too. Even Alfred has started to be irritable and confrontational toward Father. And Black Bat never comes by anymore. I think she feels guilty that she was on Hong Kong when it happened.”

Damian didn’t cry, that wasn’t something he did. “She’s not the only one. Everyone feels guilty that they missed the signs.” I feel guilty that I was part of what might have pushed you to jump, he didn’t say. “Nothing is the same anymore. I don’t think I have to tell you about Father and Nightwing, I bet they’re already apologizing to you. Oracle has become even more paranoid and controlling. I don’t like her that much, but I’m starting to worry for her. She’s overworking herself. Always tracking us, always demanding updates.”

Damian rubbed at his brow. “I don’t mean to whine, but. I wish you were back.”  
  


And they would never be.

  
Not only because no one who loved them was selfish enough to force them to come back to this life after they committed suicide, but also because there was no body anymore.

Damian went up to his knees, then climbed to his feet.

They could all thank Jason for that last one. And Damian in fact did.

When the death had been confirmed, Gordon had sent the family the vigilante version of their will; that had been left with her for safekeeping. It stated clearly to cremate their body so nobody could revive them.

Father had stalked off after hearing that, Damian didn’t know whether Father would have respected that last wish, because Jason had stolen the body and cremated, then buried the ashes at different locations himself, before anything else could happen.

The lack of a body, thought problematic at first, had been a reason why they managed to disguise the simultaneous deaths by declaring them missing in a private plane accident rather that looking for a cover story with a body as evidence.

It also meant that that they had needed to wait for a whole year before they could hold the burial of an empty casket. That had not helped with Father’s temper.

There was a flash of purple in the corner of his eye, and Robin turned to see the other hero who preferred to pay her respect in This Street. She tended to come by a bit later than him, so it didn’t bother him.

He wondered if he was the one who ran late, or if she was early, but shrugged it off. He was done, he could let Batgirl have his place.

He prepped his grapple to fly away again, keep protecting this city, in their name as well as his own.

“Please rest in peace, Red Robin.” He whispered as he took flight again over the rooftops of Gotham.

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to keep the doubt on who died up until the end... So try not to scroll up if you're here for the warning...
> 
>  **TRIGGER WARNING:** Suicide. Death. And mentions of blood.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [This Last Thing I Could Do For You](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12762045) by [CatChan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatChan/pseuds/CatChan)




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